


Chrysalis

by ottermo



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Gen, Teenager AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2016-07-08
Packaged: 2018-07-22 10:17:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7432369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ottermo/pseuds/ottermo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is <em>distinctly possible</em> that this is a Princess Diaries AU. But it also features a caterpillar.</p><p>Written for Project Theresa!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chrysalis

**Author's Note:**

> honestly I have no idea what this is or if there will ever be more of it, but, here it is.
> 
> This takes place in an AU in which Martin, Arthur, Douglas and Theresa are all roughly the same age, and they're in their last year of school.
> 
> ((I wish I could convince myself to just make Carolyn Arthur's sister, so that she could be a teenager too, but I couldn't do it! So she and Herc are only briefly mentioned, and they're adults.))

 

It’s a long, summer’s evening – finally, the humidity’s given way to a more pleasant heat, tempered by a light breeze. It’s the kind of night that could last forever, and none of them would complain. There are precious few of them left. The end of term’s approaching fast, and at the end of this summer, everything could change.

Of course, everything could change _tonight_ , too, but nobody’s thinking that for now. They have reached a stasis, a peculiar stillness that even Arthur is keeping to, as he lies on his front in the long grass, watching a caterpillar make its way across the lawn. Douglas, headphones on and eyes closed, is leaning back in his garden chair, fingers occasionally twitching to betray the fact that he’s doing his piano practice, in the very lax way Douglas ever actually _practices_ anything (ie, with the minimum amount of effort.) Martin and Theresa are sharing the swing-seat, her leaning her head on his shoulder and one of his arms wrapped around her. Next to them, there’s a discarded pile of aviation handbooks, because both are studying for their pilot’s licenses. By rights, Theresa could have taken her test by now, but Martin’s still a few weeks’ shy of his eighteenth birthday, and they’ve always said they’ll do it together, on the same day.

This is the kind of promise that Douglas mocks them for on a regular basis, but they’ve got used to ignoring him. They’d still be studying, but the light is starting to wane and Martin is mortally afraid of straining his eyes, lest poor sight disqualify him from flying. So the books have been stacked up, and the garden swing rocks them slowly back and forth. From the house, Arthur’s mother and her boyfriend, Hercules, would be able to marvel at the peaceful little group, if they weren’t too busy quibbling over meat-or-meatless lasagne to look out of the window.

The quiet is broken, though, by the sudden trill of Theresa’s mobile. Martin shifts his arm so she can reach it from her jeans pocket, but one glance at the screen later, Theresa is on her feet and separating herself from the group, treading the slightly overgrown grass of Carolyn’s garden as she listens to whoever is calling.

“Who’s she talking to?” Arthur asks, lifting his head from the site of his caterpillar watch.

Martin shrugs. “Didn’t see.” From the sounds of it, Theresa is speaking her native German, so the caller must be a family member. Two years of being her boyfriend have leant Martin a fair grasp of the language, but not one he cares to use for eavesdropping. So much so that even now, he doesn’t know an awful lot about her family. To be fair, Theresa herself has never met her father, so any extra knowledge on Martin’s part would be weird.

Douglas emerges from his musical cocoon with a sigh, pulling his headphones off and pausing playback. “Damn it. Can’t get that end section.”

“Maybe you should try practicing on an actual piano for once.” Martin says, pointedly.

“I do,” says Douglas. “When the mood strikes me. But music is just _better_ out of doors.”

“You could get an electric keyboard,” Arthur pipes up. “Then you could play outdoors all the time!”

“Not a bad idea,” Douglas muses. “I could serenade the lovebirds whenever I wanted, then.” He raises his eyebrows in Martin’s direction. “Or have you scared her off at last?”

Martin gestured behind Douglas. “She’s on the phone.”

“Fair enough.”

“Do you think a caterpillar _knows_ ,” Arthur asks, then, “When it’s time to go and do the next bit? You know, in the sausage thing.”

“Chrysalis,” Martin supplies.

“Does it know? Or does it just happen?”

Douglas hums. “I can’t say it’s something I’ve ever looked up. But I assume it just happens. Instinct.”

“I hope they know.” Arthur says, slowly. “It’s better to know what’s next.”

“But you _love_ surprises,” Martin counters.

“Not all the time.”

Martin puts down a foot to stop the swing, and leans forward. “Is this about Herc’s job?”

Arthur picks a blade of grass, then discards it. “No.”

“Because you know your mum won’t make you move to Switzerland, if you don’t want to. She’ll work something else out.”

“Mmm. Probably.” Arthur doesn’t take his eyes off his caterpillar. Martin and Douglas exchange glances, but say nothing.

“Chuck me a book, then,” Douglas says eventually. “I’ll test you.”

Martin frowns, but hands him one of the textbooks anyway. “Don’t hurt your eyes.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Douglas says smoothly. “Plenty of doctors wear glasses. Some of us are going in for proper professions, you know.”

Martin ignores the jibe, and listens for his first test question.

Some time later, when Douglas is reaching the dreaded Protocols section, Theresa returns. Or rather, she heads back towards them, call terminated and phone pocketed, but stands on the edge of the group rather than returning to her seat. Her arms are folded across her chest, and she looks uncharacteristically…ruffled.

“Theresa?” Martin asks, looking up at her in concern. “What’s up?”

She meets his eyes, and hers are wide open, as though startled. “That was my mother. My father is dead.”

Her three friends attempt to take this in, with various degrees of success. Douglas curses. Arthur gapes. Martin tries to form words, but only a few vague syllables come out, something about being sorry, but Theresa isn’t listening.

“There’s more,” she says, her usually confident voice almost hesitant for once. “I found out his name.”

“What is it?” Douglas asks.

She draws a deep breath. “Franz Joseph the Second.”

“The second what?” Arthur asks, curious.

“The second… _of Liechtenstein_.” Theresa says, quietly.

Martin’s mouth falls open. “What! As in—?!”

“He was the _king_ ,” she says, and finally her voice catches properly, the disbelief and consternation palpable. “I’m…”

“You’re a princess,” Douglas finishes for her.

And there, in the dying glow of the evening, everything changes forever.

 


End file.
